


Don't Stop

by cultivateourgarden



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Consensual Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Dom!John, M/M, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Roleplay, sub!Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cultivateourgarden/pseuds/cultivateourgarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Greg play out a consensual non-consent scene.  Response to a kink-meme prompt (link within).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Stop

**Author's Note:**

> As is likely obvious from the prompt, this will contain BDSM content, including a scene of consensual non-consent. There will also be passing discussion of rape. If any of this is a trigger for you, please proceed with caution.
> 
> Edited and reposted from [this thread](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21766.html?thread=128418822).

It was funny, you ended up doing a lot more talking when you were into the edgier stuff in the bedroom than you did for the more ordinary stuff. John had been with quite a few relationships with women where they hadn’t talked half as much about things. But it was necessary if you were going to do something that was, however careful you were, dangerous both physically and mentally.

They were over at Greg’s this time--the new flat he’d gotten after the divorce. Both of them were long since past caring that Sherlock could deduce what exact scenes they’d been doing by sound and residual marks, but they kept all the more bulky equipment at Greg’s, since Sherlock had a bad habit of stealing their equipment for experiments. Very annoying when you were trying to set up a St. Andrews Cross, only to find out it currently was hosting a decomposing pig.

They’d made Sherlock replace that one.

At any rate, a lot of it wasn’t leather and rope and blindfolds. Some of it--a lot of it even--was tea and talking. And it was nice, sitting in Greg’s tiny kitchen, with John’s hand over his knee, the two of them still in dressing gowns. They were still rumpled with sleep, but awake enough now to actually talk coherently. “How’s your arse feeling?” John asked, with a note of professional as well as personal concern.

“Sore, but not abnormally so. Had a look in the mirror, don’t think it’ll bruise much at all.”

John grinned at him a bit. “What, looking at yourself and you didn’t invite me?”

“Wanker. We wouldn’t have gotten much done if I had, would we?”

John laughed, but caught an odd look in Greg’s eye, one that said he wanted to say something but wasn’t quite worked up to it yet. He squeezed Greg’s knee lightly, just a light reminder that John was there and Greg could say whatever, when he was ready.

Finally, Greg looked at him, a bit of a worried look. “D’you ever have--I dunno. Things you want to try that you’re not sure you should?”

John frowned and scratched his chin, still a bit stubbly with a day’s unshaven growth. “Like what?” Truthfully, he enjoyed all this a lot, but Greg came up with more of their ideas. He liked doing it, but his own ideas were frankly boring, and besides, literally fulfilling Greg’s fantasies was oddly heady.

“I--uh.” Greg glanced away. “I’d like...erm. Would you be interested in doing a scene where you were--uh. Forcing me?” But before John could really process that, Greg had pulled away and was standing, pacing around the room. “God, what the hell is wrong with me? Bloody hell, I dealt with half a dozen sexual assault cases in the last two weeks alone, I know there’s nothing good about it, why would I want...”

John had to think for a few moments before he could decide what he wanted to say, and what he thought about it. Squaring his shoulders, he stood up. “Greg. There’s nothing wrong with fantasy, right? Look, what we did last night, me tying you up and hitting you, that’d be abuse if we hadn’t agreed that it was what we both wanted, right? I don’t know why some people like this. But, I do know you work bloody hard on those cases, and I’ve seen you work with the victims. Fantasy...it doesn’t say that you don’t know something’s wrong in real life. It’s just--I dunno what I mean. I guess...sometimes it feels good not to have control for you, right? Like it’s amazing for me to take on another role and have control over you. So, what’s more not in control than someone having sex with you whether you want it or not?” He shook his head. “You’re not mad for it. And I wouldn’t mind doing it with you, if that’s what you want to play.”

* * * * *

Greg unlocked the front door of his flat and walked up the three flights of stairs, rather wanting a hot cuppa when he walked in the door. But when he turned on the light, John was waiting there. He dropped his keys as he closed the door behind him. “Jesus, John, how’d you get in here? _What_ are you doing here?”

John stood up slowly, moving with a grace and fluidity you never expected in a man with his short stocky build. The motion sent a hot spike of pleasure right between Greg’s legs--which was out of character, but it was hard to avoid when the man was flexing the hands he’d used to caress the hand of a riding crop so many--right, stay in the scene. John was speaking anyway. “Oh, Sherlock’s taught me all sorts of tricks, _Greg_. How to pick locks, for one. Very handy indeed.” He strode over and picked up the keys, locking the bolt of the door, and standing in front of it. “You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked here, you know. Rough neighborhood. All kinds of things could happen.”

“Right. Um...what are you doing here?” Greg asked again, feeling his pulse pound in his throat. God, John’s pupils were massive with arousal, and he was pretty damn sure his own were too.

John smirked and pulled a book out of his trousers pocket--a book of bondage pictures. “You know, I never knew you were the type to like this kind of thing. But then again, I should have known. The way you strut around in that suit, just daring someone to try something. So tough. You’re asking for trouble. You’re begging for someone to put you in your place.”

Greg swallowed hard, and oh Jesus, he wished his trousers weren’t nearly so well-tailored just now. “John...I think you’d better go now. I can call you a cab. But you really need to--”

John cut him off by pulling a gun (which was entirely fake rather than the real and illegal gun Greg was 99% sure John had stashed somewhere at Baker Street) and leveling at his head. Fake or not, something about the motion got to him, and he could already feel himself starting to drop, to lose himself in the scene, arousal mixing with a pang of something that wasn’t exactly fear, more like the tension you got when you were riding to the top of a roller coaster. “I think you should shut your bloody mouth and get in the bedroom.”

Greg put his hands up, slow and easy. “Right, all right, mate. Don’t get excited. Just, take it easy, right?” He turned around slowly and walked towards the bedroom, the gun pressing into the small of his back. “Just, tell me what it is you want, John.”

“Your cuffs, for a start. And take off your jacket.” Greg obediently shed his suit jacket, took his cuffs from his belt and handed them back to John. “Down, on the bed now. Face-forward.”

Greg tensed and shook his head. “John, look, this isn’t you. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you don’t need to do this.” He tried to turn around, but John grabbed his arm and twisted carefully, forcing him forward onto the bed.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about me, Greg. All you see is the sidekick, the shadow. Sherlock fucking Holmes assistant and straight man. You don’t see what you’re doing to me. Well, I’m going to make it perfectly clear.” He pulled Greg’s arms above him and cuffed them to the metal bars of the headboard, and started yanking off Greg’s belt as the detective inspector started to struggle.

“John, look, stop it, all right? Just, stop! You don’t want to do this!” For a moment, John’s hands faltered, and he peered down, glancing at Greg’s face. Greg nodded slightly, unable to suppress a groan at how bloody _hard_ he was already.

John laughed coldly and knelt above him, yanking the belt loose and folding it in his hand, running it over Greg’s back slowly, leaving a shiver of anticipation in its wake. “Oh, your body’s telling me another story, Greg. Your body wants it badly.” He reached down and patted Greg’s groin through his trousers, wringing a moan from the man.

“John...stop it. Please. Don’t do this. Just...don’t, all right?” But John yanked his trousers down instead, and then his pants.

“Hush, Greg. Your body wants it. And it’s happening whatever you say, so better be quiet and not fight it. Wouldn’t want a bullet in your knee, would you?”

“John...please...” But his ‘protests’ all sort of flooded out of his mind as John sat on his legs and took a pair of gloves out, sliding them onto his hands in a motion that had absolutely no right to be nearly as sexy as it was. He moaned, grinding against the bed as much as he could, which wasn’t much with John keeping his legs pinned down. Mostly it just made the bed squeal without any useful friction.

Instead, he looked behind him to watch John taking out a bottle of lube and slowly prepping the gloved fingers of his left hand. John grinned at him, eyes dark and hungry. “Wondering, aren’t you? Want to feel my fingers up your arse, I bet. I think we can both tell what your cock thinks of all this.”

Greg felt himself flush but shook his head stubbornly, silent and glaring. Which lasted all of about two seconds as John started rubbing around the area, slow and careful, leaving Greg squirming desperately with sensation, trying to get more. “Yeah, I bet you’re trying to get me to stop now,” John mocked, as he circled Greg’s arsehole again, drawing out a sound that made Greg profoundly glad that the next flat down was empty due to bad plumbing.

“John--stop. Please--I--please...” He moaned again as John leaned over, dropping his right hand between Greg’s legs and stroking, latex on Greg’s painfully hard cock, leaving him with an arching back and a desperate groan of need.

“Please what, Greg?” John asked, stroking the foreskin back and forth a few more times to draw more absolutely filthy groans from the detective inspector’s mouth.

Greg shook his head, and then writhed as a gloved and lubricated finger breached him with a care that belied the scene. In slowly, carefully, cautious not to tear or stretch too quickly, and Greg was breathless and panting. _Oh God, more._ More, he needed so much more and it hurt with how badly he wanted it. It seemed to take bloody forever for John to add another finger, opening him, getting him ready. He was writhing beneath the shorter man’s hands, the soft taunts and the cold handcuffs going to his head, sinking him down farther and farther where it didn’t matter, it just felt so _good_.

He was aware, suddenly, that John was speaking. “Now. Do you want me to stop, Greg?”

It took him a moment to find the words to speak. And then, all he could manage was a breathless, “ _Please..._ ”

“Please _what_ , Greg,” John demanded again, his fingers still deep in Greg’s arse, moving in and out over and over.

“Please,” gasped Greg. “Please fuck me, sir. Please. Please I need--oh, God, sir...”

John stroked his back gently with the hand that wasn’t in Greg, and pulled out, ignoring the desperate whine. “Quiet,” he ordered without much conviction, as he shed the dirty gloves and put on a condom. He lubed that as well before lining up and pushing in, slow and easy. “God, you’re so tight, aren’t you, Greg? I bet I’m the first person to take you like this.”

Greg couldn’t answer, didn’t want to try. He was too far away, floating on the pressure and the pleasure and the cuffs...on not being in control. John. He couldn’t get free without John.

John. He found himself gasping with pleasure that blurred into pain and back again as the tension came to a pitch and he was coming, making a mess of the sheets, and half slumping into the bed, panting and sweating and feeling about a million times better than he ever had in his entire bloody life.

He was floating for a while, only vaguely aware of the sound of handcuffs being released and of the sensation of being rolled onto his side and wrapped in a warm blanket. Some juice was given to him and he drank obediently, sighing at the warm, comfortable figure settling against his back.

Good. God, he felt so good right now. The ecstatic tension was fading into a warm glow of pleasant lassitude as he settled down, calming, feeling his heart slowly settle back to normal. When he felt he could, he rolled over onto his other side to face John, who’d been waiting patiently, alert and watching him with his doctor face, as he always did after these. Greg chuckled softly and went to kiss him. “I’m fine, John. Not like we even really did anything physically dangerous.”

John chuckled ruefully and ran his hand over his hair. “Yeah, well, still. It can have sort of complicated psychological effects for some people so...” He went to take Greg’s wrist and check for marks or hairline fractures, which Greg tolerated despite being pretty sure he’d know if something was wrong. Still, it made John happy, and maybe that was his way of coming down from this kind of role, compensating by being the caretaker, returning to being the person who cares that his partner is physically and emotionally all right after sex. Or any other time.

Greg laughed himself--more from how good he felt than from any particular funny thought and kissed John again. “You are a marvel, John Watson. That was brilliant.”

John laughed and slid under the blankets with Greg, his upper body still in one of his lumpy jumpers, but naked from the waist down. Greg himself was still in his suit shirt and socks, but he didn’t feel much like doing anything about it. He closed his eyes and rested against John’s chest, listening to his partner’s heartbeat. John’s hands strayed between his legs again and stroked--lightly, knowing how sensitive Greg would still be. Which he was, oh God, he was. But it felt amazing, and he slid his own hand between John’s legs, gently stroking, feeling. It wasn’t even an attempt to get each other off, not now when they were both so exhausted. It was just...contact. Feeling each other. Giving each other a bit of pleasure as they went to sleep.

It was more than enough, Greg thought as he dozed off.


End file.
